And Her Eyes Shone like Diamonds
by Demonic Phishie
Summary: Define perfect. Genetic manipulation can create a supposedly perfect child. But to Magneto, perfect and destructive are one in the same. KurtOC, WarrenOC
1. China Doll

**Disclaimer**: No really, I don't own squat.

**Summary**: Define perfect… Genetic manipulation can create a supposedly perfect child. But to Magneto, perfect and destructive are one in the same. KurtOC, WarrenOC

She could be the missing half, or the straw that breaks the camel's back. Only time can tell what life she will lead. Perfect as though shaped from glass, childhood tossed her aside. Pieces are all that remain. Is there one who could fix her, or will she remain a broken, bloody doll?

**A/N**: _Thoughts_

Ah yes, one last thing. As you will probably notice, this is a re-write of my previous fic. (I didn't know where to go with the other one, and it made no sense.) Someone made a comment about the last fic being an allusion to the Holocaust—what with the experimentation and all. But, understand that even though Magneto is Jewish, his character was originally created to want to 'cleanse' the earth of normal humans. (Honestly, I think the writers were searching for an oxymoron.) So if you still have a problem…I'll be glad to e-mail you Marvel's address. Thank you!

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_**And Her Eyes Shone like Diamonds+**China Doll_

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**Lensherr Estate: London, England: 1997**

Rain danced down the window panes of the vine covered manor, mirroring the crystal flow down the cheeks of a young girl. The spring storm vanished as quickly as it had come, but the change of weather did not put a smile on the child's face. With the many lovely trinkets strewn about the mahogany floor, one might assume that no child would be unhappy. Yet staring aimlessly out the second-story window was a prim little lass with a frown set firmly upon her mouth. Brat was the word that probably came first to the minds of passersby.

"Angelique! Get away from that window!"

Deep Brown curls flew wildly as the girl jumped back from the glass, alarmed. Large hands towered over her head and hastily drew the forest green draperies shut.

"What is it Papa? Is there someone outside?"

Erik Lensherr looked down at his youngest child strangely. She was disarmingly innocent, which had been part of his plan from the beginning, but he had not prepared for it being so effective. He stooped and took her in his arms, carrying his daughter away from the playroom.

She was six years old now and fully susceptible to the genetic re-configuration he was planning. The girl that loved to run, laugh, and gather daisies was soon to become a memory. Erik almost felt as though he would miss that child…almost.

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He had turned against her. With her heightened intelligence she should have seen it coming. He had left Wanda in America amongst towering doctors clad in white. Pietro departed next, also to the United States, to be placed in the care of a foster family.

No, she had thought she was the special one, the chosen child. How wrong she had been. Nothing, not even her semblance to her late mother could have prevented her pain.

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She sat still and silent on a medical table located in one of the mansion's innermost rooms. It was a room she had not even thought existed. The walls were old; made of stone and laced with mold that provided a dank smell.

Sticky, crimson liquid pooled on the previously unmarred steel of the table. Her hair was drenched in red that had been gushing from a vicious head wound. Stains marked where her skull had been beaten uncaringly against the wall and floor. Every single bone in her body felt as though it was rattling from the cold.

Her right forearm ached worst, and she observed the white of the bone peering out from several compound fractures. However; she felt little pain, as her father had been kind enough to inject her with morphine after the assault.

The door suddenly creaked open, letting in a sliver of light. Heavy footsteps announced Erik's presence, along with the soft clinking of medical tools. He approached his daughter carefully and observed that she was still in a light haze.

A white bandage wrapped around her head was cautiously removed as Angel flinched in response. She obediently laid flat on the examining table and Erik surveyed the damage. Nothing serious in terms of reducing mental capacity, but there were several long deep cracks, and chinks of bone were missing.

The operation was going to take longer than he had first thought. A glass syringe was presented from his breast pocket, and soon Angel was thoroughly sedated.

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Rays of early morning sunlight reflected off the water-sheened navy orbs. Angel awoke in a slight stupor, surprised to see the familiar paisley walls of her own room. The translucent pink bed curtains waved with the gentle ebb and flow of the breeze. Lacy pillows were soft under her fractured skull.

Chubby fingers brushed across her ivory forehead, and came into contact with the stark white head wrappings. Fumbling slightly, she undid the metal clasps; watching as the blood-smeared cloth fell loosely about her neck. The surgical stitches were messy. Sections of her hair had been cut away carelessly to make room for the "X's" now mapping her scalp.

Pain shot through her chest as she sat up. The feeling was that of a knife lodged in her ribcage. With a muffled cry she threw her legs over one side of the bed and slid to the floor. Angel hobbled towards the bathroom, gritting her teeth determinedly. What she saw in the bathroom mirror startled her.

Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her hair was matted with dried blood. She raked a hairbrush though the tangled mess; clots of blood falling to the ground like scab snowflakes. Her hair was dry and brittle, and when drawn between her fingers, left a maroon residue. The air was filled with a rancid smell from the blood, and Angel felt herself becoming dizzy.

She gripped the silver taps and waited patiently for the water to warm. As steam rose above the shower curtains, she began to shed the lacy, pink nightgown worn night-after-night. Angel used great quantities of shampoos and soaps on her hair after stepping into the shower. The skunk-like smell gradually dissipated.

Water beating upon her head caused the stitches to throb with a blinding intensity. Angel pressed her head to the cold, tiled wall; groping blindly for the tap. The water cooled and ceased to flow; leaving her sopping wet and chilled to the bone. She snatched a green, fluffy towel off the rack, and gingerly stepped out of the shower. After drying herself, and wrapping her hair in the towel, she ventured outside the bathroom; clad in only her underwear.

Someone had been in her room. Angel prayed it had only been one of the maids. The bed was made up neatly; gossamer curtains tied back, and an outfit lay out atop the comforter. The outfit consisted of a plain black dress, silk black stockings, and shiny black Mary Janes. Angel slipped into the dress, her fingers trembling as she tied the white ribbon that crisscrossed up the front. Stockings were pulled up her skinny legs. Standing slowly, Angel slid her feet into the Mary Janes; bending briefly to tighten the straps.

Her shoes click clacked rapidly across the floor as she headed towards the door. Angel had to lean the entirety of her meager body weight against the towering entry in order to open it. Sunlight flooded in as the cherry oak slab swung open a foot. She managed to squirm through the opening with little difficulty.

On her way out, she tripped over an item placed directly in her path. It was her teddy bear Tau (1). The fuzzy brown plaything had been discarded during last night's turmoil. Blood specked the soft fur, and her own glaring red handprint was smeared across Tau's dress. Angel cradled the bear in her arms; holding it securely to her chest.

She rushed to the nearby balcony overlooking the stairwell. Her feet, though heavily shod, were noiseless and cat-like against the wood floor. Heart palpitating wildly, she crossed the threshold of her father's bedroom. Erik's frustrated pacing could be heard echoing from within.

Down the stairs she climbed; faster, faster! Now, if only she possessed grace as well as speed and prudence. The very tip of her shoe skid over the step and she tripped. "Uh!" Angel tumbled down the last three steps, and in the midst of her flight she noticed the noisy slam of a door upstairs. _No! Why now?_ What was karma punishing her for? She scrambled to her feet and rushed through the nearest door.

Heavy footsteps pounded against the stairs with a quickening gait. Adrenalin surged through Angel's small body. The door leading to the garden gate was directly down this particular hallway. If only her legs would begin to work again! Suddenly, her wrist found itself enclosed in a vise-like grip.

Instinct lent her the power to voice her distress, and she did just that. High pitched shrieks pierced the air. Erik twisted her tiny arm and watched the tears pour from her eyes. He was finished with pity and regrets. She was meant to be a tool.

Angel, now silenced by a harsh shaking—almost a beating, was returned to that inner room. Light blinded her as an alien object was drawn smoothly along the length of her arm. Everything was numbed by narcotics. Though increasingly blurry, she managed to make out the form of a blood bag. There were several of them lying on the nearby tray.

She lay unmoving for what seemed like hours. Then somewhere in her morphine soaked mind, it clicked. Blood transfusions. Mutant blood transfusions. _He has to have lost his mind to try anything this stupid. Unless…_ Erik knew fully what he was doing. Angel's DNA had been altered before birth to absorb and respond to the sequences in mutant blood. She was to be the ultimate weapon for him.

The moment Angel understood how little she meant as a child, her hope died.

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(1) German for "Dew"

**A/N**: I tried, really I did. Please review.


	2. Evasion

**Disclaimer**: This serves no practical purpose.

**A/N**: _Thoughts_

I am a terrible procrastinator who can't help herself, and I apologize.

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_**And Her Eyes Shone like Diamonds+**Evasion_

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Angel opened her eyes slowly, painfully. Her limbs were stiff and sore from a night of surgeries. As her vision slid into focus, she could see the reflection of her face on the table. Angel was confused, and a bit frightened by the image. She blinked. The girl peering out from within her steel prison did the same. Angel stuck out her tongue. The blood smeared figure copied the action.

She stretched her arms out in front of her and pushed herself up. Soft strands of hair slipped over her shoulders in response to the sudden movement. Propping herself up on her elbows, Angel let a hand wander back to thread through her hair.

It was red. Real red; like blood, and it was apparently permanent. Not only was the color different, but the lovely curls that had adorned her head since infancy were gone as well. Now, her hair fell down in glossy sheets about her face. Joints ached and screamed as Angel rearranged herself into a sitting position. Hesitantly, she glanced down at the table once more.

Her chocolate eyes each had a thin band of crystalline encircling the pupils. The color; or lack thereof, seemed to be spreading though the minute veins in her eyes. It was consuming the brown. A slight shiver ran up Angel's spine. She had also become unusually pale during the last twenty-four hours. She looked like death. It was as if someone had sucked the life from her. And, considering all that had happened; the whole notion wasn't highly unlikely. The drastic changes in her appearance made Angel's blood run cold, and caused her to question if she was fully awake.

Exactly what had happened last night? Her mind was foggy, but whatever it was had hurt like hell. Angel rubbed her arm ruefully. The new stitches were neater than the previous ones, but they were not any less painful. Whimpering softly, Angel lowered herself carefully from the table to the floor. As she prepared to leave the room, something caught her eye.

Atop a shallow tray lay a fine needle resting next to a template. There were words and numbers adorning the mold that she surmised would be etched into her permanently if she did not escape soon. Angel palmed the thin sheet of plastic. Below what appeared to be a barcode was a series of letters that could have been a short DNA sequence. "BLAZE" was etched above all the characters.

_That's what he calls me? I wonder what I can do…_ She quickly concealed the pattern inside her shoe and hurried out into the hall.

This wing of the mansion was unfamiliar to her, and Angel began to panic. After wandering around frantically for awhile, she began to note small spatters of blood adorning the baseboard. Cautiously, she followed the trail of 'bread crumbs' until it led her to her bedroom door. Tiptoeing inside, Angel did not hesitate to notice that the room was now pristine, and smelt of flowers.

Acting quickly, she began flinging clothes from the drawers onto the bed. She paced around wildly, looking for some sort of small sheet. Desperate, Angel grasped the nearby curtains and tugged; using all her body weight. The curtains, rod and all, came crashing down, almost hitting her on the head. Producing scissors from her desk, she sheared off a section of the voluminous cloth.

Angel then proceeded to create a bundle from the fabric, a few dresses, a pair of shoes, and Tau. She dragged the mass out to the stairwell. From there she could see out through the tall windows. Angel quickly noticed that the car was absent from the drive. Now was the time to escape. Her father could arrive back at any moment; she had to take the chance while it was still there.

Angel flung the sack over the balcony and rushed down the stairs after it. Gathering the bundle in her thin arms, she all but sprinted towards the front door. As Angel stumbled down hallways and skirted around corners, somewhere in her subconscious she contemplated why her father hadn't taken more preventive measures against her escape.

The best idea she could conjure up was that perhaps the morphine dosage had been wrong and she should have been under the influence for much longer. But hypotheses were no longer needed when the handle of the looming door was within her grasp. Angel let out the breath she had been holding as she crossed the threshold and stepped into the open air.

Running as fast as her legs and the extra weight she carried would allow her, Angel headed towards the woods that formed a barrier at the back of the house. She was trudging through the gardens when the faint sound of a car engine reached her ears.

Angel paused momentarily before breaking into a dead run. The sack was slipping out of her grasp and halting her progress. In the distance, a car door slammed loudly. She dropped the pack and snatched Tau from among the other items. Angel and her teddy bear fled into the dense mass of trees.

There was a large expanse of land beyond her family's property, and Angel had heard many tales about rogue gypsies and traveling circuses setting up their camps in that area. Her survival now depended on said stories being true. She stumbled through the trees; branches catching in her hair and scraping her arms. Angel made her way over logs and under brush until she finally came to the edge of a small clearing.

Peering out from behind a large shrub, Angel could see a small group of people packing tents, chairs, and other varied camping equipment into a van. To the side stood several individuals who seemed to be collecting their own personal belongings.

They were not dressed in showy clothing, nor did they fit the description of gypsies, but Angel decided that she would take a chance with them. She crept silently towards the van, keeping herself within the shadows of the few trees scattered here and there.

Inside the van, she could see that tent cloths were rolled up and stacked on top of each other, chairs were piled high, suitcases neatly lined the sides, and coils of rope were tucked away in the corners like sleeping snakes. Angel was quickly growing impatient and anxious, when the workers paused for a break.

Seizing the opportunity, she crept into the vehicle, making her way towards some bolts of cloth. From her new vantage point it was clear that the bolts were stacked on a tall, triangular frame. There was a long, narrow space in the middle of the frame, and Angel managed to squeeze herself into it. Suddenly, footsteps alerted her of the workers approaching. She held her breath and waited for what seemed like hours before the motor began to sputter to life.

The driver hit the gas immediately, sending Angel's small body crashing into one side of the frame. She managed to grab onto one of the bars, and held on for dear life as the rickety ride began. The van had to do some off-roading through part of the forest in order to reach the road. And being tucked away with the cargo, Angel was experiencing the life of a pinball.

She was thrown mercilessly from side to side in her cramped hiding space. By the time they reached a country back road, Angel was under the distinct impression that someone had shoved a blender in her ear and puréed her brain. She stayed as still as she could; letting the waves of nausea wash over her.

The vehicle bumped along swiftly, and the movement combined with the low hum and cool air emitted by the air-conditioning gradually put Angel to sleep.

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Angel awoke an hour or so later to find that the van had now stopped and was being slowly unloaded. She shifted a little so she might be able to peer out from the gaps between the bolts. Squinting hard, she could barely make out what appeared to be ships in the distance.

Her suspicions were confirmed when the smell of salty ocean air met her nose. Angel strained to see. Whether they were near the English Channel or the North Sea, she did not know. But it would be vital to find out.

With her attention diverted to figuring out her whereabouts, Angel almost missed the worker that was advancing towards the frame. She swallowed hard. There was no possible way to slip out of the van without being seen, and the workers didn't look as though they would be taking a rest anytime soon.

Two young men deftly picked up the top bolt of a deep green cloth and carried it out and away from the van. Where they placed it, Angel could not see. Soon the men were back, this time accompanied by a boy and a teenage girl. Two more bolts disappeared, with only three remaining to shield the stowaway.

After what felt like an eternity, the girl and one of the men returned. They lifted up a single bolt and were preparing to carry it away, when the girl stopped suddenly and made a face. The pair slowly set the bolt of cloth down on the floor of the van. Angel's heart stopped.

She had been discovered.

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**A/N**: Review if it pleases you.


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